Who do we think we are?

It is expected of every British politician that he should pay homage to the tolerance, moderation and general decency of the British people. Whatever else may be in dispute, the one thing we all insist upon is that we are the most gentle and civilised people on earth. We cling tenaciously to this belief, whatever the evidence to the contrary. The latest edition of The Rough Guide To England describes us as a nation of "overweight, alcopop-swilling, sex-and celebrity-obsessed TV addicts", yet this does not dent our self-esteem. We're told that 25% of Londoners may vote for the British National Party in next month's council elections, yet this does not make us question our tolerance. Each statistic presented to us seems to point to a land beset by every kind of social problem, from violent crime to teenage promiscuity, yet we feel as smug about ourselves as ever. Our way of dealing with such uncomfortable facts is to say that they are not our fault, but the fault of government. On Radio 4's Any Questions last week, Michael Heseltine said Labour's neglect of the inner cities was responsible for the delinquency that blighted these areas and undermined our reputation for civility.

Personally, I do not blame the government for the fact that my car has been broken into twice by radio thieves in the past few weeks, but others portray all misbehaviour as forced upon its perpetrators by officialdom, either through negligence or excessive interference. The idea is that we would all be good if only circumstances allowed us to be. But it is difficult to reconcile this idea with certain forms of delinquency. Take, for example, "lollipop rage", the fury that is now aroused in drivers by the sight of lollipop men and women helping schoolchildren to cross the road. There are copious reports of lollipop people being threatened, sworn at, intimidated and even hit by cars when they try to stop the traffic. Some motorists swerve around them mouthing oaths, while others stop close to them and rev their engines menacingly. As a consequence, there is a lollipop person recruitment crisis, and a number of county councils have clubbed together to try to curb aggressive behaviour by motorists, warning that it is as serious an offence to ignore a school crossing patrol as it is to crash a red light.

Now, it is hard to think of a better symbol of English gentleness and decency than the kindly person with a lollipop shepherding children across a road. To attack such a person is to attack the very notion of England as a cosy sort of place. It is equivalent to terrorising a village cricket match, garden fete or a meeting of the Women's Institute. Those who rant and rage at lollipop people are bent on destroying John Major's dream of England as a "country of long shadows on cricket grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers and pool fillers and - as George Orwell said - 'old maids cycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist'". It seems inconceivable that such people should feel pride in England's civility, but they probably do. The BNP does, after all.